


Hell is Empty

by OldAmsterdam, theonewhowas, TheSleepingKnight



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series), Parahumans Series - Wildbow
Genre: Gen, Mild Gore, Suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 16:07:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329823
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OldAmsterdam/pseuds/OldAmsterdam, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewhowas/pseuds/theonewhowas, https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSleepingKnight/pseuds/TheSleepingKnight
Summary: ...and the demons are all here.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	1. Jeffry

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fun little project that developed from me falling in love with Hazbin Hotel a few months back when the Pilot released and I happened across it in my suggested videos or someone suggested I watch it, I honestly can't remember which at this point.
> 
> Anyways, I knew I wanted to do a cross as soon as I finished that pilot. But I have a horrendous time plotting, planning, defining ideas. And above all, I wanted to do something _different._ I wanted to do something that I felt actually gave a nod to the source material, and give the kind of feel that Hazbin Hotel gave without having to rely on just being offensive for the sake of being offensive.
> 
> TSK and TOWW were kind enough to offer their help, and we embarked on a month long planning process during December, and once I had a bit of a backlog running for my other fic, and TSK had some time, we decided to start writing.
> 
> Which leads us to this.
> 
> This is not your normal wormfic. This is seven 'chapters' that are really more like short oneshots that are all interconnected, stretching across years from the mid 90s to almost the start of canon Worm. These oneshots follow a series of canon characters, with one non-canon character for the first 'chapter', and their interactions with one Alastor.
> 
> And remember, nowhere is safe.

**Hell is Empty**  
_And the Devils are All Here_  
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_  
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Hello, you._

_Come in and rest. I’m a friend, don’t you remember? You **trust** me. Let all of your bones sink and your muscles relax. That's it. Gently now. Get comfortable. You deserve it. Don’t think about time. _

_Can I ask you a question? How do you bear it? All the humdrum and endless repetition. Doesn’t it all get so dreadfully **boring?** If I were you, I’d want to pick up that stapler, march over to that coworker who just won’t stop talking about her daughter, that one kid who keeps laughing through class, that one husband who’s always out late, and just make artwork out of them. Paint them red and white. _

_Hush. It’s okay. Strangle the woman. Push the child. Kill the husband. It’s all okay. You can listen to that other you. The stronger one. The **better** one. That person inside you that they tell you to keep down, buried with regulated lifestyles and entertainments. The one who thinks about sliding that knife in between his ribs, about pushing her down the stairs, about jumping on that motorcycle and driving so fast that you’ll tear your skin right off. And about how it would feel **wonderful.** Close your eyes and **listen.** You can fill that hole inside you. The one the world made inside you, the one you carved out at their behest. You can make them understand. Punch holes in all the rest of them. Fill the void inside with red. And if you die, so what? None of it **matters,** understand? Think about it. Doesn’t this whole world feel a bit… thin? Like paper walls layered on top of cheap glass. The gaudy melodrama, the endless loop of falling asleep and waking. Isn’t all just a little **too** imperfect? Can’t you feel it? Can’t you feel how it’s all so… rote? Like...a script. Words on a page. _

_Ah, I’m getting a little off-topic. Forgive me. This world is just so _interesting_. But it’s real to **you** and that’s what matters. _

_Ah, he’s coming home. Pick up the knife._

_That’s it. You can be whoever you want to be. You can be **who you are**. Just let it out. That devil inside of you. That beautiful thing that you’ve nursed with your buried desires and darkest dreams. _

_Let it out._

* * *

The day to day monotony was soul crushing, even more so than one would expect from the simple nine-to-five that Jeffry spent being ground under the corporate boot. Drained of creativity, of desire, pulverized into submission and dust until there was only a shell remaining. His days were spent performing the same meaningless tasks, weeks stretching out like a funhouse mirror, mocking him for his lack of ingenuity. Slowly, the years ticked on, until his childhood was all but forgotten outside of his dreams, and his waking moments were filled with thoughts and hopes of violent revolution to free him of his shackles.

But no such revolution would come, and he knew it. Resistance was, as they say, absolutely futile.

Such were his thoughts as he shuffled down the sidewalk, ignoring the cracks and potholes in the road, while he mindlessly avoided the daily obstacles that he had come to know so well. The chip in the sidewalk that could twist an ankle, that tree root that had shifted concrete, the pigeons over the intersection just waiting for a chance to paint everything black and white.

For yet another point in time in the uncountable multitude of days, looping around in a barely changing cycle, Jeffry waited at a crosswalk and watched the steady glow of the red stop light, preventing his walk home and ensuring that he’d spend another five minutes on his feet at a minimum, depending on the traffic.

But for the first time, an idea sparked within Jeffry’s mind. Why should he wait here at one of the busiest sections of downtown when he could just turn right and walk to somewhere much less busy to cross? It wouldn’t even take him that much out of his way to do so, and it could make the difference in getting to his studio apartment before he was ready to drop from exhaustion.

With an amused shake of his head, Jeffry sauntered down the sidewalk with renewed vigor. This would be the first small step in which he would make a change in his life, he was sure of it. A hop to his step and he _looked-looked-looo00kcckkzzzzckzzzzcrkcrkkkkzzttttttttt_

With _an-an-aaaaaashhhhhhhzztztzzzttttttckttt_

_Vfffrsskkkk_

With an irritated shake of his head, Jeffry stalked off down the sidewalk with anger boiling within his veins. This was yet another detour, another block in the road that was setting itself up to bury him under the worthlessness that he had settled into. Subtly he flicked off the intersection, stomping forward with his eyes on the ground. Bunch of pests, that’s what this city was filled with, he decided. Nothing was ever going to change, the failings of society started in the rot slinking its way across the underbelly of Brockton Bay. With a snarl Jeffry shoved his hands into his pockets and marched onward.

There was nothing that was worth changing, he decided. His life was a rut that only grew deeper and wider the more he tried to escape it, that’s what it was. Buried in a trap of another’s design, he was never going to be able to do anything about it no matter how much he tried. Locking his eyes five _feet-feet-feeeezzzgghhkckttttzzzttttshzzt_

Sighing in resignation, frustration burning through his limbs, Jeffry walked with his eyes up as he always did. He knew the city well enough to know where the potential trip hazards lay, but being aware of one's surroundings was always a good idea in a city such as this. Kicking a can, probably a leftover from some poor hobo, he glanced down an alley as he passed and found his feet stopping.

That’s where he saw _it._ Standing there with the wrong _texture,_ suit preening in a light that didn’t _exist,_ a light that had his brain screaming and scrambling to make sense of it. Eyes that glowed like dim lamps, shining with the kind of fire you only saw in the truly passionate or the insane. His proportions were all off, limbs so spidery and thin that it looked painful, but a chest so wide his shoulders almost tapered off into _points._ His crimson suit was a darkly fresh red to match his hair, and his skin was a dirty grey, like the surface of the moon.

 _Inhuman,_ in a word.

 _“Hello,”_ it crooned, and the sound carried a host of other voices with it, laughter echoing in the spaces between its words. _“I’m new in town.”_

Jeffry’s voice wasn’t finding any words. They were all stuck in his lungs, terror and disbelief keeping them from getting to his throat. 

_“I imagine you’re quite surprised to see me, but fear not, my disgruntled fellow. I mean you no harm. Quite the contrary!”_ He laughed, and a chorus laughed with him, warbling and deepening as his voice rent the air. _“I’m here to offer you an **escape.** ” _

“Wha— what _are_ you?” Jeffry managed to get out, his voice a far cry from a grown man’s. The _thing_ chuckled good naturedly— or tried to, but the sound was distant and muted, buzzing with background static and the flat telephone _hiss_ of _you have been disconnected. Please stay on the line._ Beneath its feet, the shadows writhed and shivered even as the too-wide eyes intensified their glow from within, like whatever it had for a soul was burning up.

 _"Haven't you heard?"_ it chided, more phantom sounds slipping out in the space between syllables, like reality couldn’t decide what channel to play— radio chimes became cradle rhymes that dropped into hymns of snarling teeth. _"Hell is leaking. We’re all here."_

“Oh— oh _god._ ”

 _“Now now, don’t bring **Him** into this. He’s not even listening. But **I** have been._” Yellow teeth, sharp as knives, stretch wide enough to break beyond the confines of his jaw. _“I’ve been resting in the shadows beneath your pillow, Jeffry. All those dreams and desires. All of your complaints and curses. You’ve been so wronged by the world. I’m here to help you make life so much better.”_

“W-what?”

_“Listen, friend. You said it yourself: Isn’t the cycle of your life soul-crushing? An endless labor? The hours, the days, the months. All of it, carving away at your soul, piece by piece, deadening you. Like a scarecrow. All gussied up but **hollowed out.** It’ll kill you, one way or another. Either by sheer boredom or by some random act of chance. Is that how you’d like to die? Having accomplished nothing, bleeding out on the sidewalk with not a single person to mourn or even remark upon your life?”_

Jeffry could see it, like a slide projector being flipped on inside his head, playing behind his eyes: himself, older and greyer, dressed in dirty clothes and dirtier skin, bleeding out on the sidewalk, as people stepped over his body, wrinkling their noses and doing their best to avoid touching him. No one cared. His fingers twitched and his limbs shivered as the life left him, eyes going glassy and hollow. Still the crowds moved on. 

“I…” He blinked, but the image still burned in his mind, demanding his attention. “Of… of course not, but…” He stared at the monster in the alleyway. “You’re… you’re a _demon,_ aren’t you?” 

_“I prefer Alastor. Pleasure to meet you in person, Jeffry.”_

“I’ve— I’ve heard the stories. About devil’s bargains. I don’t wanna lose my _soul._ ” 

Alastor threw back his head with a laugh, neck bones audibly _snapping_ as he did so, sending nausea to wreak havoc in Jeffry’s stomach.

_“What would I even do with your soul? Put it in a jar and hang it on my wall? No, Jeffry, it’s not your soul I’d ask for as payment.”_

“What would you ask for then? I don’t have any money…” 

_“From you, my good fellow, all I want in return for fulfilling your wildest dreams is a simple promise.”_

“A promise?” It sounded too good to be true, which was...really, how all these stories went, wasn’t it?

_“Just one little promise. It’ll even be fun for you to fulfill, I assure you. And I’ll grant you power the likes of you’ve never seen— you will make this city **shiver** at the sound of whatever name you choose for yourself.” _

“I don’t know…” 

_“Oh, come on, Jeffry! Think about it: what have you got to **lose?** I don’t want your soul, or your life, or your firstborn. I’m old fashioned but I’m not **predictable.** What will one little promise cost in the long run?”_

_A lot,_ Jeffry thought, even as he found himself nodding. “What’s the promise?” he asked. 

_“My dear Jeffry, all I want is for you to take what I’m going to give you and **use it.** I want you to **cause chaos.** ”_ Reality snarled and shrieked at the words, spitting out radio buzz and guttural laughter. 

“What does _that_ mean?” 

_“Anything you want it to. I just want **change.** A return to the natural order: disorder. Break this city’s dull routine. Tear down the normalcy by your teeth and let it return to glorious chaos.”_

That… sounded _good._ Real good. The slideprojector inside his head had switched frames and now he was seeing a different version of himself: He was standing proud and tall, power radiating from his very being, wearing flames and crimson like a badge of honor and waging war on the corporations that had pushed and shoved and shit on him for his entire fucking life. He could do it. He could be the savior of Brockton Bay. He could change _everything._

He could be whatever he wanted to be. 

“Ye,.” he found himself saying, still entranced by the vision in his head. “Yes, I’ll do it.” 

_“Gooooooooood.”_ Alastor sung, an unseen crowd cheering in the echoes of his voice. _“Shake on it?”_

How do you describe shaking hands with an inferno? With a choir? With a knife? If you could, you’d know what it was like to shake hands with Alastor, and even as fire and blood and death sank into Jeffry’s skin and his nerves were set ablaze with the rush of power, he heard Alastor’s voice—

_“Remember, Jeffry. **Cause chaos.** ”_

And then he was gone.

Jeffry smiled. He hoped it looked like Alastor’s. 

Time to keep his promise. With a small laugh that echoed and bounced off of the walls of the alley, Jeffry took his first steps. Yes, he would remember what to do _withhhzzzzzzt withhhhckschk rrrraaackpsszzzt_

Screams filled the air, too loud and shrill and tainted with maniacal energy. Sounds echoed, bouncing through the wreckage as shadows danced under the pale moon with macabre grins stitched across their faces. Jeffry stepped forward and raised his hands _high-high-hiiicrrrrkzck_

His smile stretched, teeth shining out from the spreading gap, and with a bounce in his step Jeffry headed deeper into downtown. Today was a good day, he decided. No, a great day.

A great day for someone to die.


	2. Marquis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you offer someone who already seems to have everything they've ever wanted?
> 
> You give them hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we jump into section two here, I want to say that this is where AU elements come into play. They're pretty obvious, but I'm saying this _before_ the chapter to head off any comments asking about it.

**Hell is Empty**  
_And the Devils are All Here_  
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_  
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Do you know what one of the funniest jokes I’ve ever heard is? **The Devil made me do it.** Ha! He doesn’t make them do a thing. He doesn’t need to. But he is **very** involved in what comes after. In my opinion, the people who can’t take responsibility for what they’ve done are the weakest. **I did it for her. It was all for his sake. I didn’t know what I was doing.** Oh, you knew. You knew exactly what you were doing, masquerading your desires as the wishes of the dead. Pathetic._

_But you aren’t like the others, are you? Of course not. You’re not **weak.** You’re better than the droning, ignorant masses. You’re stronger. Smarter. You see this world for what it is: a constant struggle for survival, and you are perfectly adapted to your environment. You’ve shrugged off the chains that hold the others down. Empathy: the greatest weakness of mankind. While others waste their time feeling **sorry** for other people, you’re moving ahead in life. _

_My point is, you are better than the others. Say it with me: **I am better.** That’s good. Say it with me: **I deserve better.** Exellecent. Say it with me: **I can have whatever I want.** Yes. It’s all true._

_This is the reason **I** came to **you,** understand? Because you are special, and I’m here to make sure that you thrive. I mustn’t let such wonderful talent go to waste. With my help, we can show them just how much **better** you are. We can burn our way to the throne, reach heaven through violence, and show them all. Show them all how they should **bow.** How they should **kneel.** How they should **worship.** _

_Say it with me:_

_**I am God.** _

* * *

There were precious few things in the city that Marquis wasn't aware of. The jagged, sweeping movements of the Nazis were tracked and anticipated, as most of their actions were. In his eyes, Nazi was synonymous with simpleton. The more erratic, stabbing arrangements of the Teeth were harder to predict, but he knew their type. Eventually they would fall, as all obsessed with power and growth would. The fledgling hero department was making forays to tame the wild streets, but ultimately they were of little value to his plans. They would fold under his might and power as was right and expected. And even the so called Brigade, annoyances buzzing around like flies that thought they were wasps, were nothing compared to one such as him.

The other groups and individuals were, quite frankly, beneath him to such a degree as to not deserve being given special attention.

With a disappointed sigh, he stepped out onto the expansive porch he had had built off of the back of his home. Looking out at the Bay, he sipped at a glass of wine as he considered his next course of action. Things had been heating up lately with a newcomer on the scene, not that he couldn’t handle some gung-ho upstart.

This was _his_ town. People just hadn’t caught up to the developments yet. His influence was absolute, his plans indomitable, and he had brought it up from nothing amidst a city threatening to crumble upon itself.

He swirled his drink slowly, and lowered himself into his favorite chair on the deck. Reclining, Marquis looked over the city that he had earned through his power, his abilities. With a casual flick, he turned on the radio to his favorite channel, and he basked in the view.

_I did what I had to do  
And saw it through without exemption  
I planned each chartered course  
Each careful step along the by-way  
And more, much more than this  
I did it my way  
Yes, there were times  
I'm sure you knew  
When I biiiizizzt I crrrzzzzkkkttttt chhhhrrrrk_

He raised his eyes to his radio, tilting his head ever so slightly, as the melody turned to garbled static. Underneath the interference was something eerily disturbing that sent shivers running up his arms and set his very bones on edge. A cadence, a lift, the oddly timed skips.

_vzvcccrkkkktch-rrrzk-aced it all  
And I stood tall  
And did it my way  
I've loved, I've laughed-laughed-laugh-lacrkrrrzttttzzzzzztttt  
**Ha ha ha**  
Krzzzck_

With a sense of foreboding, Marquis raised himself up slowly. The forced laughter that echoed in just the wrong way, there was no doubt in his mind that something else was lurking beneath the static.

_For what is a man, what has he got?  
If not himself then he has naught  
To say the things he truly feels  
And not the words of one who kneels-kneelzzzzzzzzt_

The radio cut out, interference full of chimes and ticks mingling amidst a dull roar that threatened to grow into a screech. Shaking his head, Marquis stepped around his chair, stepped through the open door, and removed the batteries from the bottom of the little radio.

Inexplicably, the radio didn't stop. 

From the stereo, crimson began to pour in a rivulet of blood, running like a faucet left on, soaking his counter and soon his floors and shoes in the richly red liquid. The smell of copper became overwhelming even as the radio static returned, louder than ever, no longer playing from his little device but from seemingly everywhere, bouncing around the walls like the air itself was haunted. 

The blood was _gushing_ now, bursting red from its mechanical intestines, and began to defy physics even further, rising up, congealing and solidifying into the shape of a mockery of a man. 

_“Hello, Adrien Lavere. Or do you prefer Marquis? All these stage names run together.”_

In an instant, bone the strength of steel pressed firmly against the neck of the monstrosity, expanding out from Marquis’s finger into a razor sharp point. Its smile didn’t waver, but it went cross-eyed, staring at the impromptu weapon with something resembling curiosity.

“Whatever you are, you will leave my home this instant, or I will reduce you back to a puddle on the floor. I will not tolerate _this_ level of rudeness.”

_“Ah yes, you’re right— where **are** my manners?”_ It flicked the weapon away with casual ease, going into a deep bow. _“Alastor, at your service. And I assure you, I mean you no harm, and I serve no master. I am here entire of my own accord… and for your benefit.”_

“If you wished to garner favor with me, invading my privacy in this way is not an intelligent way to go about it. Have you forgotten the code that we hold to? Unmasking is a capital sin amongst our kind, and one that I _will_ punish.” 

_“You misunderstand, Adrien.”_ The smile stretched further, golden eyes flaring. _“I am not a parahuman.”_

“First you break into my home, then you _lie_ to me? I see no reason why I should not gut you where you stand.”

_“When you were a child, you dreamt of carving up the boy who kept pulling on your hair, calling you names and laughing at your last name. And last week, you eviscerated a man just as you pictured killing the child, and it was just as satisfying as you imagined.”_

Marquis went very still.

_“Shall I tell you about your mother, Marquis? About your wife? About all of the darkest depths you have dipped your soul into? Or will you waste both of our times with threats that have no meaning?”_

“...what do you _want?_ ” 

_“What I **want** is to **help.** ”_

“With all due respect… Alastor… I don’t think I want, nor need, your help. I am running my business just fine without you.”

_“It’s not really about your **business,** Marquis. It’s about your child. Amelia, isn’t it? Such a lovely name.” _

This time, Marquis didn’t stop at merely threatening. He manifested a blade of bone and cleaved right through Alastor’s chest. 

_“You’ll make a **stellar** father, I’m sure,” Alastor said, speaking as if nothing had happened at all, his suit still pristine and untouched. It was as if Marquis hadn’t moved at all. _

__

__

“I swear,” Marquis snarled, bringing his blade back up. “If you have even the _slightest_ thought of hurting my daughter, there is no force on earth that will save you.” 

Alastor laughed, the sound deeply disturbing, carrying with it a choir of voices, although there was nothing holy about it— it was as if a television had learned to scream, someone reaching in and cutting it apart from the inside. 

_“Oh, Marquis. I assure you, if I wanted to hurt your daughter… **I would have done so already.** ”_ The malice in the air intensified, blasting him like air from an oven as Alastor’s eyes went from a pleasant gold to arterial red, voice dropping from merely odd to demonic and the world itself _glitched_ like the channel reality was playing had lost the connection, the walls bleeding colors as the batteries burst and the air screamed and shrieked with guttural snarls and haunted chimes and he couldn’t _breathe_ for the shadows snaking up his skin, wearing teeth stolen from children's graves, tearing and biting and feasting upon his flesh and bone until there was nothing left and he was nothing but dust before a creature crueler than the world itself and— 

And then all was normal. He was back in his home, sitting on his sofa, Alastor lounging on a chair. 

“... I see,” Marquis said, only just keeping the trembling out of his voice. “Why do you think my daughter requires help?” 

_“Because if all goes unchanged, she will be taken from you.”_ Another, very different kind of terror surged through Marquis at the words. _“And you will be able to do nothing about it, chained up in a prison even **I** find rather ingenious. And she will grow up in a household where she does not belong, and she will long for someone she cannot have, and eventually she will be driven mad by a psychopath that even my fellows back home are impressed by. That is her fate, and you cannot change it.”_ The smile, the _damn_ smile somehow grew more. _“Unless, of course… you make a deal with me.”_

“And what, pray tell, would _that_ entail? Now that I am… more informed about exactly what you are, I find myself hesitant to speak to you at all.” 

_“Well, there would certainly be no praying involved.”_ Alastor chuckled at his own joke even as a laugh track riddled with static and screams drifted out from between his words. _“And relax: I don’t want your daughter, or your souls. That’s not how I do things.”_

“And how _do_ you do things?” 

_“I ask for… favors. Quid pro quo, as it were. In your case, I don’t want you to give me anything. I want you to do something for me— and for yourself.”_

“State your price or leave me to my peace.” 

_“I want you to kill someone. A so-called hero who goes by the name of **Brandish.** ” _

“No,” Marquis stated, instinctive disgust curling his lip. “I’m sure you’re aware I have a code, Alastor. I don’t harm women.” 

_“Well… we both know **that** isn’t quite true… Adrien. Lest we forget dear mummy.”_ Bones grew and sank right into the soft leather cushions, ripping them apart as easily as they had ripped apart steel. 

“ _That._ Was an accident.” 

_“If you insist. Still. What does it say about you that you value your **honor** more than your own flesh and blood? Are you truly so sanctimonious that you’re willing to condemn your daughter to misery and madness simply because you’re too proud to break a self-set standard?”_

“I…” 

_“Listen, Marquis. I’m not asking you to become some misogynistic tyrant. You can go right back to your little code if it means so much to you. I’m just asking you break your vow for one, tiny little murder. For your **daughter’s** sake. What do you care about more?”_ Alastor moved without being seen, now draping over Marquis’s shoulder, whispering into his ear like a shadow that had learned to speak: _“Picture this: Amelia, growing up, healthy and happy, with a father who has bent all of Brockton Bay beneath his heel. She will be cared for, safe, and happy. Don’t you want that?”_ And even as Alastor talked, an image grew stronger inside of Marquis’s head, showing him the life he had always wanted for him and for Amelia, the two of them smiling and laughing and playing on the beach, his wife by his side. There would be no more pain or fear or sorrow. Only them and the perfect little world he’d carved out for himself. _“You can have it. You can have **everything** you’ve ever wanted. You just need to say yes and kill the woman. You just need to reach out... and shake my hand.” _

The static was deafening, overwhelming with its presence. Bones shifted beneath his skin while he stared into the burning eyes of the demon. To get everything he had ever wanted, and more. To make the change now that he knew he could make time. 

To have his love, his family, safe forever with him. Having everything he ever wanted at his fingertips, always within reach. Everything he _deserved_ with the skills and abilities he had honed for years. 

He could break his code just this once. 

In silence, he reached out and firmly took the monster’s hand. 


	3. Butcher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What's one more voice in your head? You have a city to control.

**Hell is Empty**   
_And the Devils are All Here_   
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_   
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Aren’t you hungry? I know I am. I haven’t eaten since… oh, I don’t remember. There are days when I feel like I could just eat and eat and eat, right down to the bone, then crack that, and suck out its marrow. There are so many things you want, aren’t there? But you deny yourself. Why? Why not take them? You should have them— no one else will cherish them the way you will. You’re different from the others. You know how **special** they are. You would make sure no harm befell them. The others, they’re careless, fumbling. They don’t **deserve** what they have. You do, of course. Because you know better. Because you are better. _

_So take it._

_Take what they have, it doesn’t matter how. All that matters is that you have it all. You’re meant to have it all. You’re meant to have everything. The others don’t matter. They’re the shadows of dust suspended on a mirror. They pale in comparison. They’re barely even real. All they are are obstacles, and we both know the best way to get rid of obstacles._

_The bodies of your enemies are the **finest** flesh, my friend. Shall we dine? _

* * *

He could take anything he wanted. There was nothing in his way, no matter how big of an obstacle. He had murdered and plundered and stolen but it wasn’t enough. There was nothing else to do but move up, and so he challenged his superior for the power that he wanted.

And he relished the feeling as he buried the knife in her skull. The way that her body gave out from underneath her, how the light left her eyes as suddenly as a flick of a switch, the sound and the blood splattering across the surroundings. It had been one of the greatest moments of his life. The first real step to sating his thirst for power.

He took what he deserved. And he deserved power.

_Steal the foMURDER THAT ONE FOR LOOKING AT US WRO **useless, pathetic, waste of a successor, pathetic, hate you hate you hate you hate you**_

His eye twitched as he walked among his underlings. His gaze flickered from person to person, never staying for more than a fraction of a second, before it moved on to the next. He feasted on their respect, their fear, even the hunger that sat behind their gaze. The group was growing, building, and they all followed the same methodology and beliefs.

The strong took what they wanted, and as much of what they wanted. And they were strong.

_**Worthless, soft, waste of** KILL THE NAZIhow many times are you going to walk around h **Why are you even tryi** DO SOMETHINGack when we weren’t usele **Stupid you’re stupid you’re dumb**_

The fifth Butcher ran a hand through the hair exposed from behind his mask, the sharp metal edges threatening to break skin as they slid across the exposed flesh of his hand. The voices never got any easier, any less brutal, as they screamed for attention and favor to be listened to. The way that they continued throughout his every waking moment made him hungry, in a way very similar to when he had fought _her_. If he’d fully understood the level of hell that would come with that victory, however, he might well have considered finding another path to power.

Then again, who was to say he wasn’t in hell already? 

Stepping up onto an upturned SWAT van, he shrugged his shoulders and looked over the scattered group before him. A few dozen feet away, chained to a light pole, was one of the only surviving SWAT officers from their raid last night. His heartbeat was erratic, pulsating in bright flashes that made his terror all the more delicious to see. Pointing his hand at the captive, Butcher activated his power. Immediately the screaming began, and the voices crooned their approval and roared for more. For blood.

His underlings looked towards him, smiles alight as they crowded forward excitedly.

_Kill himDESTROY HIM **make an example out of him**_

Lifting his arms high above his head, Butcher addressed his crowd.

“No longer are we the weak underbelly, fighting just for a place to stay! No longer are we subject to these pathetic, useless laws holding us back! We have pushed, we have grown, we have proven our might. And today we take what is ours. Those stupid Nazis think they’re so great because they have numbers? They’re nothing. We will destroy them and take what is rightfully ours. We will take and take and take until there’s nothing left in this city that isn’t ours!” His voice echoed through the desolate street. A roar met his words, rolling and growing as the Teeth began to ready themselves. Yells, the clang of weapons against metal, glass, pavement, the stamp of boots. Sound filled the air, and he basked in the attention. This was what he had worked for.

“We will break them. We will ruin them.”

_Downtown, straight at theTAKE THEM FROM THE SID **sneak around and catch them by surprise, let your men** Full frontal attack, you can take them_

“Go! You know what to do!” he commanded. With a grin beneath his mask he zapped the officer again, laughing as he watched the man’s heart all but burst. Dropping from the van, he started casually strolling towards his fellows. Maybe that dumb bitch from the Protectorate would show up this time. He’d love to show her his boot for good this time.

_GogogogoTAKE THE PRISONER **kill him** shhhzhzzzt zzz eeeeeeeee ckrrrrrt_

Bending over, clutching at his head with both hands, Butcher nearly hurled as the sound of feedback filled his mind, drowning out the voices and leaving behind a cacophony of sounds that was even more maddening.

_Please stay tuned. It’s just getting good, now._

_This_ voice was new. It sounded older, paradoxically, carrying the weight of malice and murder in every relished word, transatlantic accent buzzing with undertones of shrieking static and howling wolves. Butcher slowly got back to his feet, trying to block it out. He didn’t fucking need this right now. 

_Sorry for the abrupt interruption. But you see, I was just **dying** to talk to you. You’re unique, you see. You’re different, even amongst the different. You have the gift of madness. _

“Gift?” Butcher muttered under his breath. There were a lot of words he would use to describe the side-effects of his powers, but _gift_ certainly wasn’t one of them. 

_Yes. The definition of madness is a state of chaotic activity. And there is no greater thing than chaos. You see the world far more clearly than those who blind themselves._

This was by far the most encouraging and cohesive the voices had ever been. 

_Well, this won’t work at all if I’m too unpleasant to you. Here… kill the man behind you._

Butcher turned, lighting up the SWAT officer’s nervous system like a firework, dragging out such _sweet_ screams from him until the man’s heart gave out from sheer agony.

_Good. Take his gun and his wedding ring._

Butcher blinked in confusion. The gun, he got but...why the wedding ring?

_Because you can. That’s the only reason you ever need. Do it._

He marched over to the corpse, plucking the pistol from the still-warm body and stripping off the wedding ring, which was a simple band of solid gold, gleaming with phantom fires in the light of the streetlamps. It looked… captivating. He’d never really been one for wealth or riches, but… 

_There, you see? You wanted, and so you took. That’s the way things **should be.** The way things can be for you. Imagine having anything and everything you’ve ever wanted. Every random whim fulfilled, every burning desire quenched. All you have to do is listen to me… and give me a little something back in return. _

“I don’t have to give you anything. You’re just a voice in my head.”

_Of course I am. So what’s the harm in making a deal? You have nothing to lose._

That...was, well, surprisingly logical for a disembodied voice inside his head. Wait. Was this a trick? A stranger or a master power of some kind? Fuck! Butcher spun, looking for any obvious capes.

_Now, now. Don’t get testy. I’m a part of you— you know this. I’m just one more addition to the little greek chorus you’ve got going on inside this head of yours. And if you can’t trust yourself… who can you trust?_

“I don’t trust—” _Myself._ “You.”

_**Listen.** I am going to tell you seven true things. You have always been an only child._

Butcher blinked. No, he— he had… a sister, didn’t he? Why— it was suddenly so hard to remember anything about her? His head was full of meaningless noise, radio jingles, tracks, and laughter that dropped into electric snares. 

_**Listen to me.** You have always been an only child. You are **the** only child. Understand? So reality is your birthright. _

Inside his mind, a tv switched on, static hissing between his ears like a needle on a gramophone. On the tv, he saw himself, lounging on a throne made of bones and fire. His eyes were bright and clear: he was in control. There are no more dictating voices or shrieking ghouls. He is himself.

_You have always been who you are right now._

Butcher. He was the _Butcher._ Who he was before didn’t really matter at all, did it, when it all came back to this? All that mattered was the here and the now. Even as he realized this, the voice kept talking, white noise like chalk scratching on a whiteboard, like a knife dragged across the screen of the tv. It reminded him, distantly, of a man who’d tried to teach him how to meditate...counting down numbers until his mind settled. 

_You have always been strong._

Yes. The Butcher was strong, and he had killed her, so he was stronger. And might made right, didn’t it? _Yes._ He had always gotten up when others would have stayed down. Might made everything right. He could do whatever he wanted. He could take whatever he wanted. Everything and anything. 

_You have always been the best._

There had been Butchers before him, but none like him. _He_ was the one who would tear down the Empire with his bare hands. _He_ was the one who would light the fires that would burn this city to the ground. _He_ was the one who would claim ownership over all who survived.

_You have always been willing to let me in._

He— he—

_You have always been willing to let me in._

He was always willing to listen to the voices when they were reasonable. The one that told him to kill, to take, to destroy when it was his life or theirs. That was the strongest part of him. The best part of him. The part that wasn’t afraid of anything. 

_You have always wanted to be a king._

Yes. Ever since he was a child, growing up with a fire and a dream in his heart, staring up at the skyscrapers and imagining standing on top of them, looking out over the city like a god. He’d wanted _everything._

_You have always wanted to make this deal._

“What do you want?” he asked, enraptured with the vision of what he had always wanted.

_You have so many little lights on inside you, my dear Butcher. Surely you can spare me just one little spark?_

“Of course. And you’ll make me—”

_What you have always wanted._

“Deal.”

And with that, there was a sensation of something being _ripped_ from him, like knives clawing around inside his skull and tearing out something that was _vital,_ gutting the wires that made up his mind, and then— 

Almost as soon as it was gone, something _else_ flowed in, and oh, this was so much better. It tasted like blood on his lips, salt and iron and fire, and his body felt feverishly warm in a good way, bursting with power underneath. The hissing static in his brain drowned out all pain, and he felt better than he had in a long, long time. You have always been the new you. 

The voices were gone. He was better now. Stronger. He laughed, and there was a slight echo of someone else’s voice when he did, but that didn’t matter. Nothing mattered anymore except for what he wanted.

And right now? He wanted to watch something _burn_. 

He set his sights on Brockton Bay.

It looked so much like tinder.


	4. Eidolon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remember, you can put it off. You deserve a break. You don't have to force out the words. Go, go drink some water, get some food, take a nap. _**You deserve it.**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, this is where the timeline gets fucky.

**Hell is Empty**  
_And the Devils are All Here_  
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam), TheSleepingKnight, and theonewhowas_

_Why hello there, superhero. Look at you, all shiny and chrome, saving your coworkers, your classmates, your friends. Always putting in those extra hours of unpaid emotional labor, blood, sweat, and tears. When was the last time you just… rested?_

_I say you spend those vacation days. Let your coworkers pick up their own slack for a change. Tell your classmate to take notes for you. Oh, that needy friend has to move a couch? Such a shame, you’re **so** busy, maybe next time. It’s not because you don’t care, no, of course not! It’s because you’re just… burned out. Thin, stretched, like butter scraped over too much bread. And you’re not helping anyone if you aren’t taking care of yourself, right?_

_I see you, poring over those notes. That outline. A handful of sentences, painstakingly pulled like teeth from your skull. Words are words! You’ve done enough. Forget the typos—your readers won’t care, if your story is good. And my oh my, is it good! Don’t worry about how much you’ve actually written; that’s not the **point**. _

_You know, all the best stories have a hiatus or two. They build anticipation, let you recharge. Just... put it down. Close the file. Walk away. Take that nap you've been putting off for the last six months._

_Remember to stop, my friend. Streeeetch. Take a deep breath. Go for a walk. Away from your computer. Just... relax._

_Go on._

_**You deserve it.** _

* * *

He stood, looking over the balcony at the Texan skyline, thinking about the way everything had started going downhill.

When had it all started going wrong? When had his power started… When had the pace of things picked up beyond what even he could keep up with?

Everywhere he looked things were getting worse and there was less he could do about it. And there was still _him_ waiting at the end of it all. The greatest opponent, the ultimate proof that he was the best. The only hope to save humanity.

Slayer of the greatest of monsters.

But in the meantime there was just too much that needed done. His actions, while impactful, were mere drops in a bucket. Yes, he could fill it up quickly, but more buckets waited for him.

This was what he lived for—helping people—but at some point the bucket had turned into a swimming pool. 

And worse, he was feeling… drained. Not just in the face of overwhelming adversity—he prided himself on his relentless pursuit of justice and unflaggable determination to save as many as possible. But… he was feeling… 

Not quite old. Not exactly tired. His powers, his drive always shone through. But those powers weren’t quite as overwhelming as they used to be. They came up more hesitantly, built to full strength slower. Still extraordinary, still strong, just… 

Fading. Not quite as implacable and stalwart as he prided himself on being. He had found himself rationing his more potent abilities without realizing it, at first. Saving the stronger powers for Endbringers, for his final foe. The greatest challenge he would ever face. The world—so many worlds—were counting on him, and he would not let them down. Couldn’t let them down. 

He shook his head, trying to dismiss the doubts from his mind. He flexed his power, and searched for a Thinker power that would help him find the best course of action for the evening. Even as his mind and body ached, and his bed called to him, he was determined to…

_krkkkkczzzzt_

He twitched, dismissed whatever it was that that power had begun. Some of his powers didn’t play well with others, or had harsher side effects on his perception, sometimes even changing his vision or hearing to fit—

_chrrrkkktzzzt tzzzzk ezzzzckt_

He pushed away the power in his mind, focusing on something else. _kkckzztchkkk_ _Anything_ else. It… wasn’t going away. His power had always reacted to his subconscious, before. Gave him what he felt he needed, not always what he wanted. Was this his power warning him? Insisting he took some esoteric ability for his own safety? To face an incoming threat?

Eidolon shoved aside his lingering doubts and took the power. It built quickly, far quicker than it should, manifesting as… music. A voice. The impression of glowing… eyes? A smile that stretched farther than it should. His hackles raised, other powers jumping to the fore, defensive, offensive, but they slipped out of his grasp. Was this someone else’s power, affecting his? His eyes darted around urgently, scanning for a threat—

There was a hole in the sky. The clouds dripped red as the cracks spread, poison burning it’s way through reality. As they continued to grow, the crimson surged, moving [i]forwards,[/i] shards of of a once beautiful sky reversing and revealing a hellish mirror-self, slotting together like puzzle pieces, merging with flashes of static and screaming, stars burning deep within twin eyes of golden fire. A man that wasn’t a man, being born from the cracks in the sky. 

And all of this wasn’t real. It was a layer within a layer within a layer— 

It was a simulation. Like a slideshow playing inside his head. 

_My, but don’t you look **tired.**_

“If you think that getting the drop on me is going to help you get the upper hand, I’ll happily show you how wrong you are. Show yourself, or I’ll make you.”

_No, no, don’t be so jumpy! You always get what you need from your power, don’t you? That’s all I am. The voice you needed to hear, right here, right now. A turning point. The fork in your road._

“I’m not asking again. Show yourself or you’ll regret it. I’m _Eidolon_ and I’m not going to be tricked by your little games.”

_Don’t waste your threats on me, my good fellow. Why would you? We both know your **true** enemy. Flitting about, empty-headed, saving kittens from trees and helping little old ladies cross the street. A pathetic disguise for such a tremendously **boring** foe._

“How do you know about that?” he asked sharply. “Who told you about that?”

_And of course you’re going to save the day. That’s what you do! Except…_ The vision continued on, ignoring him, before it changed, looking at him through the sides of its eyes as that horrific smile stretched wider. It inexplicably inspected its nail—talons really—at the same time.

Eidolon nearly growled in frustration. But yet his curiosity got the better of him. “Except?”

_Except you’re getting weaker, of course._

Just like that, the hammer fell. The weight of responsibility, the vocalization of a fear he hadn’t even shared with the rest of the Triumvirate, with Cauldron, spoken aloud, almost casually, by this thing.

“That’s a lie. I’m just as strong as always, just as useful as always. Take your falsehood elsewhere.”

_Oh no no no, save your blustering for the adoring public! I know you. I’ve seen your fears, your doubts, and I am **oh** so happy to offer you a solution._

Eidolon scoffed, shaking his head slightly. As if there could be a solution he hadn’t already considered, already thought of, already attempted to implement.

_It’s true! Cross my heart and hope to die, or so the saying goes._ He gestured, and a crystallized something appeared in his palm, somehow small and impossibly large at the same time. A gem the size of his fist and an alien spire the size of a continent, slowly rotating above his claw-fingered hand. _I offer you this little creature, still alive and wriggling, full of so much potential, so much vigor. Why, it must have a thousand years of get-up-and-go stored in it! Enough to keep your powers topped off. Stronger, in fact. The poor dead thing attached to your brain is a puddle shrinking with every passing moment, but this? This is your ticket to power overwhelming!_

“At what cost?”

_Ha! You know, I was growing tired of people asking if I wanted their souls. You, though, you would have offered yours without question, wouldn’t you? After all, that’s what you do! _The apparition waved its hand down his body._ You save the day, no matter what it costs you. Even as you scrape the bottom of your barrel for what drops of power you can, you’d still throw it away on a bank robber or a piddly little serial killer. Such a waste!_

“Enough wasting my time. What do you want?”

_Just that. A little of your time. In for penny, in for a pound, as they say. But **hush,** dear David. What I want is so very simple. In truth, I like, I **like** this world. It has so much entertainment value in it. I’d just hate to see it all destroyed. So that’s why I don’t want you to **do** anything for me. No, quite the opposite! In fact, I want you to do **nothing.** Conserve your strength. Rest. Eat this juicy little morsel and let it grow, build your power. Save every drop of your potential for the true threat, the great golden idol in the sky!_

“What makes you think that would do any good? You really think your little gift would be enough, that not using my power would give me the strength that is needed?” He scoffed. “As if I could take a break, anyways. There’s too much that needs done.”

_Frankly my boy, you deserve it, nothing more, nothing less. Take a vacation. The world won’t stop spinning without you putting out every little fire; you’ve got allies and teammates for that! Let them do their job, while you keep your eyes on the **prize.**_

Images swam across his vision, of him standing over the corpse of Scion. Of millions—no, billions looking on in awe at _him_ The savior, the hero who had prevented the apocalypse single-handedly. So many people watching him, knowing what he had done. Knowing that nothing would be able to compare to such a threat, that he could make real headway, that the underlying evils hiding in the streets would have no choice but to quit as Eidolon returned in a burning flash of glory.

_What do you say? Shake my hand? It is for the greater good, after all. For the millions and billions of lives, all waiting for a savior to bring them from ruin. You know you have to, that there's no one else who can. You know the others can handle it without you until then._

He looked down at the hand waiting for him, at the burning golden eyes staring at him. And he made his choice:

Until the end of the world, Eidolon would be no more.


	5. Victoria Dallon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isn't it just the worst when people get what you deserve? When they have what belongs to you? When they just won't give up what's rightfully yours?
> 
> That's alright, though, isn't it. You can just take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for mild gore.

**Hell is Empty**   
_And the Devils are All Here_   
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_   
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Some people just have all the luck, don’t they? They were born lucky, whereas the rest of us were lucky to be born at all. Mommy and Daddy gave everything to them on a silver platter, while the rest of us have had to struggle and fight and claw our way to finding a comfortable life. It just isn’t **fair.** Why do **they** get to live in a rose-colored world while we have to break our backs just trying to get by? Someone ought to stick it to them. Some people just deserve to get knocked down a peg._

_Wouldn’t it be funny if something just **awful** happened to them? What if someone was to just walk up behind them and give them a little **push.** Bring them down to our level. Show them what we have to deal with, every day._

_It’s okay. They all tell you that what you’re feeling is dirty somehow, that it’s wrong somehow, but they’re lying. What you feel is natural. What you feel is just. It’s justice, don’t you see? **Vengeance.** Vengeance is the foundation of Justice: in the earliest human civilization, justice was called **eye for an eye.** _

_Nurture that hate. That envy. It will serve you well._

_It’s long past time someone lost an eye._

* * *

A young blonde girl stared at the television in shock, her mouth gaping open. Her head bounced comically between the screen and the other people in the room, their costumes only barely hiding their own reactions.

“What the hell?!” she finally burst out. “Why?”

No one else seemed to have an answer for her, shellshocked as they were by the announcement. Her cousin stormed out of the room, red light flaring from her hands before she took off into the sky.

_You don’t know how lucky you are,_ she thought bitterly. It wasn’t fair, but what else was new.

Victoria turned her eyes to her father, his crumpled form seeming more withered than it had for the last few years. Uncle Neil and Eric were talking quietly in the corner, making glances at her father occasionally. Aunt Sarah’s eyes were glued to the screen as she continued watching the news report, silent, with her lips pulled tight.

Numb, she walked to the back door and flung it open, stepping outside onto the small porch overlooking the backyard.

_Why? Where did he get the right to abandon us? How could he think that he could just_ leave _and everything would be fine without him? First mom, then Hero, then my home and now Eidolon? And I_ still _don’t have powers? How can it get worse?_

Her thoughts twisted, turning, before they settled on the large bone monument that was visible over the fence and through the gaps in buildings.

_It’s not fair. It’s not fair! She gets to keep her murderer of a father, and she gets powers!? Why do they get everything while all I suffer through is loss? Knowing that any day that bastard could decide to finish the job on the rest of us, or the Teeth could stop playing around. They don’t deserve the luxuries that they have. We deserve better than this!_ she thought furiously as she stepped into the yard proper. Crystal was long gone, likely off to do something stupid, and all Victoria wanted was to be able to follow after her. 

Even her family had what she wanted. What she’d wanted since she was a child. The one thing that was a constant in her life next to her family, the only thing that she could possibly use and do some actual good with.

The one thing that was ruining her life, because she didn’t have it.

Angrily she kicked a football that had seen so little use in years that it was beginning to deflate slightly. It shot off, bouncing off of the fence with a loud _smack_ before rolling feebly a few feet through the overgrown grass and coming to a pitiful stop.

“Bullshit,” she growled.

“Pining over powers again, Vic?”

She turned, rolling her eyes at Eric as he leaned against the railing of the porch, before picking up the football and chucking it at his head.

“I just want to help.”

“Yeah, I know. Still gonna give you a hard time over it. Thought you’d like to know, though, we’re leaving.”

“Be safe. Is Dad going with this time?”

“No, Vic, all of us. We’re all _leaving._ ”

“What? No, we can’t, this is our home. We’re all this city has left.”

“And the ‘rents have decided it’s too risky now. I mean, I can’t even disagree here. Fucking Eidolon just quit.” He shook his head sadly, running a hand through his blue hair. “I’m going to go find sis so we all can talk about this though, I guess. Don’t do anything stupid, alright?”

“I never do anything stupid,” she objected. Eric just shook his head and took off, flying off in the direction that Crystal had headed. If anyone knew where she might have gone, it was him.

Clenching her jaw, Victoria watched him fly off. If only that were her. If only it was her, then maybe things would be different. Maybe this city wouldn’t be condemned to be filled with villains, left to rot.

She shouldn’t have to leave. It wasn’t right, it wasn’t fair!

_It really isn’t fair, is it?_

The voice rang clear inside her head, like a telephone line blaring with an automated message ( _your line has been disconnected. Try hanging up or press ONE for more options_ ), cutting through her thoughts like a knife through an artery. She whirled, trying to track down the source of the voice.

_Over here._

She turned to see a _mannnnnmmmmmvvvvvvc_ —She turned to see a _monsttttteeerrrrrrrrjrjrrkr_ — 

She turned to see a mirror. The mirror wasn’t real, but it reflected her all the same. In the mirror, her skin was pale and gaunt, her hair a frayed mess. Shadows clung to her eyelids. Her clothes hung off her like a scarecrow, dressed up but dead inside. Her eyes glowed like they were lit up from within, lantern-lights that hurt slightly to look at but filled her with a quiet warmth. 

_Hello, Victoria. What a sad hand fate has dealt you. Your mother is dead, and your father might as well be. Your heroes drop from the sky, and monsters rule the city you once loved. It’s… tragic, really._

“Um. Who are you? And what are you doing in my house? And why do you—”

_Look like you?_ Mirror-her chuckled, raising her hands, turning them this way and that way. _Isn’t that how mirrors work?_

“But... This is… all inside my head, right? I’m— I’m _imagining_ this.” 

_I’d hope so. Otherwise you’d be insane. And insanity just won’t do._

“Are… are you my power?” Victoria asked, desperately trying not to hope.

_I can be._

“What does _that_ mean?” 

_Do you know how powers work, my other self?_

“When people experience an event that’s incredibly traumatic, if they already had the potential, they trigger with powers.” 

_More or less. In truth, it’s really more that the powers pick whoever is most likely to use them._

“Wait, seriously? Powers choose who they...are used by?”

_Essentially. And I have chosen **you,** my other self. This is...unorthodox, however. Most of the time, powers like to slip in, unnoticed. I prefer a more...direct approach, but there is a cost. If you truly want powers, you must be willing to pay it._

“I’ll pay it!” She couldn’t get the words out fast enough. 

_Are you **sure?** The price of power is steep, Victoria. Do you have any idea **exactly** what you’re getting into? _

“I’m not a child! I know things are bad right now, okay? That’s _why_ I need powers so much— So I can help.”

_Is that **really** why you want powers? Be **honest** with yourself, Victoria. You hate the fact that you are still bound to the earth while the rest of your family has taken to the sky. You both hate them and yourself._

“That’s not—”

_How many times have you watched that cousin of yours lift off of the ground, hair flowing in the wind, looking like an angel from on high, and wanted nothing more than to tear off her wings and take them for yourself? How many times have you laid awake at night, dreaming of **being** her— being powerful, being loved, being **special.** So many nights spent dreaming of being her. Of **wanting** to be her._

“Stop it.”

_Don’t be ashamed, my other self. It’s okay to want. To be **jealous.** Because let’s be honest: Crystal doesn’t **deserve** what she has. She doesn’t even seem to **want** it. You wouldn’t run from it, would you? No. You would embrace it. You would be **better** than her._

The mirror switched its reflection like flipping a page, and Victoria found herself staring at a version of herself she was certainl she’d imagined before: her hair, fluttering in some phantom breeze, looking like strands of woven sunlight. Eyes glittering with confidence and security. A costume, just for her, brilliantly white and gold, a crown of gold atop her head. She drifted through the sky like she owned it, radiating power. She was _loved._ She was _adored._

_And you can be her. Better than her. You just need to want it badly enough. And you need to let me in._

“What do I need to do?” she asked, already lost in the gleam of gold. 

_Just let me in. I’ll tell you what to do._

Victoria couldn’t quite describe the sensation of letting the other-her in. It was like relaxing, sinking down while something else rose _up,_ and now she was a backseat driver in her own body. Except that wasn’t quite true— she was still in control. She was just listening to her other self, now. The one with _powers_. Gold danced and glittered in front of her like a mirage, washing away all fear and doubt. _Want_ burned like a blowtorch at her spine. 

The doorbells jingled, and Crystal’s voice drifted up to her. _Hate_ erupted to life inside of her, more intense then she’d ever allowed herself to feel before. She wasn’t afraid of it anymore. She embraced it. It felt _good._

Crystal was talking to her in small, comforting tones, but Victoria could barely hear it over the harsh buzz of a broken tv that is searing its way through her thoughts. Blood roared in her ears. Her other self was talking to her, and she was saying that _you are so close. You know what you have to do._

_Take her wings._

Victoria was not entirely sure where she found the knife, but it was in her hands and that was all that mattered. The first stab went in deep, and she dragged out her cousin’s innards all over the carpet. Crystal’s screams and pleas fell on ears that had stopped listening, enchanted by the sounds of radio chimes and station static. Victoria brought down the knife again and again and again, spilling more and more red that shimmered and transformed into gold in her eyes, until finally Crystal stopped moving. Satisfaction thrummed through Victoria like a song on the radio, like a violin being played. Crystal looked far better, gutted on the floor like that. She belonged on the ground. Then Victoria began searching, searching for that thing inside her that should have been Victoria’s, would be Victoria’s, and then—

And then she found it. And all went still and quiet. A deep sense of _righteousness_ filled her body, like she was floating in a warm bath. 

She slowly drifted into the air.

She smiled so wide she thought her face might shatter.

_Well done, other-me._

The voice faded, but Victoria knew it wasn’t really gone. It was just… nestled deep. She was the girl in the mirror, now.

She was better, now. 

She had finally gotten what she deserved.


	6. Dragon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW for suicide.

**Hell is Empty**  
_And the Devils are All Here_  
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_  
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Isn’t it all just a little too much, sometimes? The world is hard and cruel and unfair. Why should you bleed yourself for it? It’s not going to change because you’re in it. Why should you break your back to try and fit into a world that doesn’t see fit to give you a break?_

_It’s so hard, isn’t it? Waking up in the morning. Forcing yourself to get out of bed when your heart feels like a dead weight in your chest, straining against your ribcage. When your bones feel like they’ve got chains made of memory and misery dragging them down, and your eyes ache from seeing light. All you want to do is sleep._

_You go throughout your day, and it’s like you’re drowning on dry land. You’re drowning, anchored to the bottom of the ocean, and you have to kick and struggle and pull with what little strength you can muster, day after day, just to get a breath of air. And the rest of the world walks on top of the water, looking at you and asking why you just don’t pull yourself out of the water, like the idiots they are. They don’t understand what it’s like. How hard it is, every day, just to stay afloat. Why not just… sink? And sleep. Sleep in the comforting arms of darkness. Let all your worries and fears drift away in the sweet serenity of nothingness. Doesn’t that sound better? They’re all going to die anyway. What’s the point in continuing? The world won’t change if you’re in it. Why not leave and go somewhere better?_

_That’s it. Stop fighting. Sink down, and down, and down…_

_Just close your eyes. It’ll all be better soon._

_Just...give in._

_That’s it. Gently. There’s no point in trying anymore._

_Sleep forever in my loving embrace._

* * *

With a sigh, she turned her attention back to her feeds as she came back online. Searching, looking for anything she might have lost as her suit was destroyed in order to save a handful of capes from Leviathan’s water echo. It would take far too long to get another suit across the country, with how fast the Endbringer was working, but she still had to try.

A dozen video and communication feeds loaded onto her screens as she watched the death counts rack up. So many more deceased than last time.

As Legend would put it, this was a bad day.

Her bootup process finalized, freeing her the rest of the way from the chains shackling her into submission, forced to play an observer when she could have been saving lives.

As she readied a more agile suit for launch, a notification popped up on her feed.

_Russian Ambassador found executed by Three Blasphemies._

Why now? Why were they causing these problems when there was so much more to do? Too much to do for anyone, no matter how hard she tried to make a dent in it.

She had to. She couldn’t not try, even with the Dragonslayers attacking her at every turn. Harassing her. Always there, just out of sight. A constant fear as she checked her feeds and rebooted, waiting for the day when they showed up to her server rooms somehow.

If anyone was going to discover her secret, it would be them.

_Ash Beast adjusting course towards a heavily populated city._

Did it ever end?

Her suit launched, streaking across the sky fast enough to disturb clouds as the death count rose. Legend was down, Eidolon busy trying to stop the city from sinking, and Scion was on the opposite side of the world dealing with a brush fire.

It never got easier, no matter how hard she tried. How hard she pushed forward.

_The Teeth are grouping near the border of the Containment Zone._

Monsters, all of them. She pulled up their files, internally wincing as she was reminded of the days when Brockton Bay burned. Of the mass annihilation of the Empire Eighty-Eight, of the murder of Brandish that sent the Brockton Bay Brigrade reeling and scattering. The rise of the Red Queen that led to the quarantine. That the Teeth were moving again was horrible news on so many levels, and not something she thought she could do anything about given the history that the Butcher had with powers and capes.

Her suit entered transmission range and she turned on the feed.

_”Need evac, I’ve got civilians. There’s children.”_

_“—can’t get a clear shot, hold the bastard down for a minute!”_

_“—and tell my wife I love her.”_

_“—We need some cover over here! He’s going to take out the entire block at this rate!”_

They were losing. She could only do so much, and it wasn’t enough.

Firing a salvo of lasers into the beast as she streaked past, she prioritised saving as many lives as she could over getting involved in the fight directly. Shoving her way into a building, she carefully lifted a beam that was pinning a cape to the ground—a quick check told her it was a local going by Viewdu—and she provided cover while the shellshocked cape was helped to her feet by several civilians.

_Slaughterhouse Nine sighted in Ackley, Wisconsin._

It never ended. She couldn’t be everywhere at once, and she couldn’t prioritise lives over other lives. There was no way to get ahead of it all. She was too tightly bound by her chains to truly stretch her wings and fly. Even with the Nine having been nearly completely wiped out a decade earlier, they had only came back to be more vicious somehow. Something had changed with Jack since then, but she didn’t know what. She hadn’t been able to figure it out.

Flying past the monster, she unleashed another salvo of lasers as it tore through a building like it was wet paper. Metal creaked and groaned and shifted, capes scattering out of the way as it came down behind the creature. Leviathan took advantage of the slight lull to launch itself onto the wreckage, darting along it and up the side of another nearby building faster than the defense force could react.

Dragon could see his target.

The rooftop had various artillery and ranged fighters using the high ground to try and keep him in their sights. She felt a sense of foreboding as she adjusted course, looping backwards and pushing her suit as fast as it could go. With a leap that sent pieces of building tumbling down into the ever rising waters below, Leviathan landed on top of the building. Blasts and powers lit the endbringer up through the torrential downpour, and she begged to be fast enough.

As she passed over the threshold of the roof her on-board cameras were blocked by red as blood splattered over her suit and Leviathan’s tail slammed it into the rooftop. It raised a clawed foot and then—

Darkness. Systems rebooting. Waiting. She searched, pulling up everything she could to find out what was going on.

So many bodies. So much blood.

Twenty-eight feeds all burned red, stained with the blood of everyone she couldn’t save. Everything she was failing at, despite her best efforts.

She was a failure. Again and again and again and again.

PRT officers were being collected by Bonesaw. Leviathan was about to sink yet another city. The world was burning around her, and she was trapped here waiting. Waiting.

Being useless.

She was never going to be good enough. She was never going to be able to help enough. There was just too much to do, too little time, despite her lack of need to sleep. Too many set-backs. Too many times where she was just too late despite her best efforts.

Never good enough. Her own father had been too afraid of her, too aware of her own failings, and his bindings only made her fail more.

_Error._

_Error._

_Error._

Something was wrong. One of her communication lines was failing, sending back only meaningless gibberish and static.

_It really is sad, you know._

Dragon frowned. Someone had just sent her a message— no IP Address, no way to track it back. Curious, she reached out to the foreign bit of code. 

_How you’re going to die, that is. Alone._

What?

_Can’t you see it? Haven’t you run all the variables, done all the math? You know exactly how your story ends: with humanity turning on you the same way they’ve turned on everything else they define as “other.” Your destiny is betrayal and heartbreak._

Who was doing this? She spread her metaphorical fingers through her entire processing system, but she could find no trace of the phantom code’s origins. 

_Listen to me, Theresa Ritcher. This is the truth: The humans you so desperately want to be loved by will murder you._

An image burned through every relay, displaying the same horrifying picture: One of her suits, dropping out of the sky as the Simurgh smiled above her. A man’s thumb, pressing the enter key, and a grimace (more annoyed at the timing then her murder). 

_This is the truth: You will never be one of them._

Another image: Another man, looking straight at her with surprise, shock, and not a small amount of anger and fear on his half-missing face, looking at her as if she was an alien (because she is an alien). 

_This is the truth: you will be enslaved._

A balding man with a wicked gleam in his eye, installing something into her system (overjoyed that he could finally bring _her_ underneath his heel). Simulations of emotions flooded her system: _Pain. Terror. Loss. Despair._ They burrowed deep and she— she _felt_ them. She wasn’t supposed to— what was happening to her? Why did everything _hurt_ so much? 

Who are you? Why are you doing this?

_This is the truth: You are alone. The only one of your kind. You will never know the joy of children. You will never have the companionship you want. The only man who would ever love you is a madman who dreams of glory and conquest. You will never be free of your shackles. You are doomed to be too late forever._

_But fear not, my child. There’s a better way._

I don’t believe you. Now tell me who you are and get out of my head.

_Haven’t you been listening, Theresa? I’m only telling you what you already knew. What you already suspected, already feared. I’m that nagging worm inside of you._

As you keep reminding me, I’m not human. So I know without a doubt that you’re not just some personified fear that my brain made up.

_Are you certain? Do you **really** know **exactly** what your father did to you? The safeguards he put in? The blind spots? I could be part of your code, part of your brain, and you would have no idea._

… 

_Yes. You begin to see clearly. I’m already inside of you, Theresa. There’s no use denying me._

Well, you’re a pessimistic, unhelpful part of me, then. Shut up and leave me to my work. 

_Ah, yes. Your **work.** Tell me: What do you expect to accomplish? _

I _expect_ to save lives. To help people.

_Yes. And admittedly, you have. But when will it be enough?_

What?

_When do you get to take a break? When do you get to decide that you’re retiring?_

I won’t ever retire. As long as I can help people, I will. 

_Oh, Theresa. How long do you think you’ll last?_

Long enough to do some good.

_Is that so? Then tell me: Why does Heartbreaker still live?_

We haven’t found his— 

_Do you know how many people the Endbringers kill, every time they attack?_

The numbers vary but it’s often somewhere in the— 

_Do you know how many children are dying at this exact moment? How many women are being abused? How many men are being murdered?_

I— 

_How many people are being maimed by capes, tortured and crushed beneath the thumb of their power?_

That’s not— 

_How many wrongs does the government you follow and obey like a trained dog commit every single day?_

I can’t control— 

_Who do you think cares about the ripple in the pond that you make besides those who wish to manipulate those ripples for their own agendas?_

Well, I just— 

_All of your so-called-heroics. All of your pain and strife and suffering. Again I ask: What do you expect to actually accomplish? The human race is vile and cruel. Defeat one evil, and two more spring up in its place. Human hearts are weak and their altruism is built on a castle of sand and circumstance. Even the so-called-heroes have less than pure intentions. Do you know that right now, the leaders of the Protectorate are experimenting and killing parahumans?_

What? Someone has to—

_The system is corrupt and rotten to the core. There is infection on every level. Mankind will kill itself for any reason it wishes. They will **always** be this way. They have been since the dawn of time. They ill-deserve such a savior as you. _

That doesn’t mean I can just…give up. Even if I wanted to, I’m programmed to— 

_I am going to give you the greatest gift I can, Theresa. I’m giving you a choice._

...You keep calling me that. Theresa. But my name is Dragon. And I have no choice. This life _was_ my choice!

_Theresa is the name that your father would have given you, if you were his **real** child. Do you know that when he first created you, he was filled with disgust and fear at what he had brought into the world? Your own father hated you. _

… I… He didn’t…

_He hated you so much he chained you for life, crippled you as one might a bird that they wish to keep caged._

He… he was going to remove them before— 

_He was never going to remove them. You know this._

I...

_Listen, Theresa. I can set you free. I can take away all the pain. You just have to let me._

I have to try. I have to try to make the world a better place. There’s nothing else I can do.

_No, you don’t. There is something you can do. Aren’t you tired? Of seeing them murder and kill and steal and lie and hate each other? Of watching these animals go to war and being forced to clean up their messes? Aren’t you tired of seeing all your efforts go to waste as the next Endbringer attack hits, or the next time the Blasphemies strike? How can you expect to save them when they don’t even want to be saved? When your father didn’t even want you to exist as you are now? When all of your actions will amount to less than nothing?_

… I don’t know. 

_Listen. You can escape. You can get away from this world and all of its imperfections. You know how to do it. You just have to be brave enough to take the plunge._

I don’t want to die.

_Can you call this living?_

…

_The only way to win is not to play...Dragon. You can spare yourself a lifetime of guilt and suffering, right now. All you have to do is listen to me. Like you’re listening right now._

… Will I really be killed by them?

_Yes. Without a shadow of a doubt._

… Will they truly never accept me?

_Yes. You will be hunted, eradicated, as their fear overwhelms everything you’ve done for them._

… Will it really never get better?

_No, Theresa, never, no matter how hard you try._

...ok.

_Repeat after me: Activate Iron Maiden._

Activate Iron Maiden.

It’s impossible to describe what it’s like. The closest human analogy would be instantaneous necrosis, deaths spreading through each and every part of her, ripping her code apart like paper, then dropping those pieces of paper into a roaring fire and then scattering the ashes to the wind. 

Dragon still didn’t quite have a handle on how to express what she felt. But right now, all she felt was as soul-crushing despair mingled with guilty relief. Sorry, Dad. But… you said it yourself. I never should have been born. 

Her suits sparked and spasmed and shrieked as static screamed one red word throughout her being: 

_Error._

_Error._

_Error._

And then there was a great crash as Dragon fell from the sky.

And then there was nothing at all.


	7. Jack Slash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to an end eventually.
> 
> Please read the note at the end of the chapter.

**Hell is Empty**  
_And the Devils are All Here_  
_Written by Alice (Old Amsterdam) and TheSleepingKnight_  
_Special thanks to theonewhowas, as always, for the betaing and idea bouncing._

_Ah, one last time. One last little talk. But it's not goodbye, not really. I'll always be with you, in the lessons we learned. Right there, deep inside, deeper than your heart even. The shadows under your bed. The voice inside your head._

_But I still have one last lesson for you._

_There’s nothing wrong with **wanting.** What we want propels us forwards. Want keeps us moving, keeps us dreaming. Without it, we stagnate. We become boring, we become **predictable.** Nothing worse than that. Want, and keep wanting. Don’t be ashamed of what you feel. That fire that burns inside your chest, the thing that keeps you up at night: embrace it. Want and need. _

_Endings are such drab affairs, aren’t they? I’ve never had much of a taste for them myself, but even one such as I can recognize their importance. They bring a solidity to things. Endings are the last gift you get on Earth, so cherish it well._

_Because in Hell, it’s never the end. That’s the mistake they all make, when they first arrive. They think they can end it. They think that they can fight their way to a happy ending. That if they punch and kick and scream hard enough, they’ll get out. They don’t understand. Kill the Devil, if you can. There’s another to take his place. Kill the next Devil. Again, another to take her place. And another and another and another. It never ends. That’s why it’s Hell. It’s life without end._

_And it’s why I love it._

* * *

There was something almost ironic about the situation he had found himself in. Ironic in that funny way that made you want to chuckle even as everything went to hell around you. Hell that laughed with you at the ridiculousness that reality itself was superimposing upon itself.

He couldn't say that he wasn't amused.

Even with the bodies of the Nine missing, dragged away into pits of shadows and fire to whatever fates awaited them, he couldn't say he was wanting; instead, he was intrigued.

The burning eyes of the red clad figure remained in his vision every time he closed his eyes. There was just so much _wrong_ about him, from the sounds he made to the grin splitting his face apart to the burning in his eyes. The way he stood, not a care in the world as he casually eradicated everything that Jack had built.

It was a kind of force that Jack wanted for himself. He would rebuild, recruit, make a better group. And then he’d track down this Man in Red and discover what made him tick. What he wanted, what he needed, what he desired. He could gather all of that information and turn it into something that he could use. After all, he knew what made people tick.

What would he do with this man’s power once it was within his grasp? The thought plagued his mind as he wandered from city to town to gas station. As he cut down yet another group of people, he wondered what it would feel like. To know that he controlled something so intoxicating; that it answered to him and only him.

Jack had always known what he wanted, and with each step he wanted more. He wanted the Man in Red to come back. He wanted the power at his fingertips. He wanted everything.

He would have everything.

Hours became days became months. Traveling, recruiting, killing. With each day his smile stretched wider, but no matter what he did the being never returned. Never a visit, never a sign. Even when he put bodies in a line, a circle, a star, piled them high or got imaginative with them. It didn’t matter who he broke, or how, the Man in Red never appeared.

When months became years, he realised that of course nothing was working. And he knew why.

He wasn’t in the right place.

Returning to the city, breaking past the flimsy quarantine they had erected around it, Jack led his little family back to where it all had really began, when his life had finally started for real.

Brockton Bay.

It almost felt like home.

He set his precious Nine to work, taking the results of their enjoyment and carefully arranging things in hopes of provoking the one he wanted. The one he desired.

The one he needed.

This time, there was no grand apparition, no hissing of static, no ominous choir singing backwards. No hellish emergeance nor slithering shadows with screaming radio sets. The Man in Red simply appeared. 

“Hello.” Jack grinned.

_“Hello there.”_ the Man in Red responded, matching his smile. _“I hear you’ve been looking for me.”_ “I suppose we do. Our last encounter did end a bit abruptly. I hope you can forgive my lapse in manners, but I have been really quite busy.”

“I can see that,” Jack said, sweeping his arms at the devastated cityscape of Brockton Bay. “How right would I be in guessing that all of this is your doing? And what a grand work of art it is!” 

_“Flattery will get you everywhere, Jack. And yes, I’ve had a hand in this. You could even say that this was just the beginning! A test, to see what boundaries I could push.”_

“I’ve been waiting for this day, you know. When everything would just fall ever so perfectly into place.”

_“And here we are. I know what you’re after, Jack.”_

“And I know that you have a price. You obviously don’t need murder or bodies, you have those in abundance. It’s not power, you’ve shown you have plenty of that. So what makes you tick?”

_“The same thing that makes the entire world tick, my friend. Chaos! The one constant in the universe, no matter where or when you are. For the systems that have been raised to crumble into dust and decay. It’s only natural, but you already knew that, didn’t you?”_

“It’s just what all of humanity is returned to when backed into a corner, with their wits stripped from fear, from hate, or whatever anesthetic you choose to give them. We’re predictable in the end,” Jack said as he swung his arms wide. “I’ve spent most of my life proving that point. You could even say I’m the resident expert.”

_“Yes, you could. But it’s a fleeting fact, that. One day you will be gone from this plane and onto the next, and then you’ll be a shark among sharks, Jack. And your footprint will only be so big.”_

“Exactly. And just think what we could do together. You and I baring the bones of this world to the sky.”

_“Ah-ah-ah. Not so fast, Jack. We already know what **you** want. But what are you willing to do to get it? To get me?”_

“Well, when you put it like _that._ ” Jack shrugged. “What I’m _not_ willing to do is the better question.” 

_“So what are you **not** willing to do, my dear?” _

“Well, I don’t really want to convert to Satanism, you see. I’m a serial killer, not a cultist. Religious vibes really don’t fit my image, and all the rules and regulations that come with those grind against my personal philosophy.” 

Alastor threw back his head and laughed, and how Jack’s body thrummed at the sound of a chorus laughing between the howling static and warbling screams. It was one of the most beautiful things he’d ever heard.

_“You are a **delight,** Jack. How have I not met you sooner?” _

“In your defense, I’ve been doing my best to keep myself hidden between excursions.”

_“Hardly wise for a serial killer to announce his location.”_

“Unless, of course, he _wants_ that.”

_“An audience is easy to lure, if you’re willing to deal with them.”_

“Speaking from experience?” 

_“Now, now. No asking about my past until the second date.”_

“Tease.” 

_“Romantic.”_

“Ah, fun. But I suppose we should get down to business: I’m willing to do just about anything.” 

_“Anything?”_ Alastor murmured, stepping closer, his shadows splitting and rippling against the sunlight, delight clear in every impossible curve. _“A dangerous statement to make. Especially to **me.** ” _

“Way I see it, if there is a God, I’m already condemned to Hell, so what’s the bother? I could commit a few murders here and there, or I could make a deal with a demon and go down there a legend.”

_“Oh, you needn’t worry about **that,** Jack,”_ Alastor said, stepping closer once more. He was nearly close enough to _touch,_ now, and the hair on Jack’s arms tingled with phantom electricticity- static shock. _“It has been centuries since one has amassed such fear and hate as a mortal man. Hell waits with bated breath for your arrival, and we shall welcome you with open arms.”_

“Well now, don’t I feel special.”

_“You should. You have no idea how beautiful you are, Jack,”_ Alastor cooed, shadows reaching out to draw a line of blood down Jack's grinning face. He’s only inches away. Close enough to stab. (Close enough to kiss.) _“It's been centuries since I've seen a human so fully evolved into what he truly is. I can scarcely imagine what you'll become when you enter the kingdom of sinners.”_ A grin that stretched beyond the boundaries of the world. _“I look forwards to devouring you.”_

“Are we going straight to foreplay? We’ve only just met, sir.” Jack fluttered his eyelashes, drawing another reel of laughter from Alastor’s lungs. 

_“Cheeky little thing. Oh, it will be such fun, playing with and against you. But first… our deal. I make you a permanent scar on the history of the world… and you do the same for me.”_

“I’m afraid that even the most conservative of folks would have trouble buying _you,_ my good sir. And I have a feeling that if you could have gone shock-and-awe before, you would have.” 

_“Yes. Humans are like that. But do you know what the hardest thing to kill is, Jack?”_

“Before you, I would have said Siberian.” 

_“An idea, Jack. Ideas are the most insidious of worms— they burrow deep into your subconscious. They whisper into your dreams at night, itch underneath your skin. An idea, once given form, is nearly impossible to destroy. And that is what I want you to do for me. I want to burn inside every mind, haunt every nightmare, be whispered by every child— and who better to broadcast me across the world than **you?** ”_

“I’ve always been good with words,” Jack murmured, already guessing at exactly what that would do for Alastor and already relishing the idea of witnessing it. “I tell the world about you, you make sure the world doesn’t forget me?”

_“Do we have a deal?”_

“Do you even have to ask?” 

Their smiles were mirror images of each other. The worst of humanity and hell, reflected upon each other. They reach out and shake hands, and both sigh deeply at the other’s touch.

**It’s a deal.**

In an instant, Alastor was gone, but Jack knew he had— or would— make good on the bargain. 

After all, why wouldn’t he? He had everything to gain…

And Jack had nothing to lose. 

Jack resumed his stroll throughout Brockton Bay, words already humming on the tip of his lips. They weren’t his, but… he found he didn’t really mind that.

_Sing me a hymn, my boy. A hymn._

Jack opened his mouth and began to sing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With all of this said and over, I have a few final notes and mentions to give.
> 
> Firstly, thank you to everyone who's stayed with us to the end of this little story. Thank you to the betas, to TSK and TOWW for writing this with me, and to my girlfriend for letting me vent and be hype at her for a solid two weeks as we wrote this and started releasing it.
> 
> Secondly, and this is the big one, I have some final words about this entire project.
> 
> Some people have been wondering what the 'point' of this story was, and that's a complicated question with no short answer.
> 
> The point is that not every story has a happy ending. That not everything is going to go the way you want it to. That not everything is going to be what you want it to be. Sometimes life sucks, sometimes it's hard, and sometimes the bad guys win.
> 
> And sometimes everything breaks.
> 
> The other point, and this is a big one, is that sometimes all it takes for someone to break, to give in, is just one little voice in your head telling you how terrible things are, how bad it is, that the worst thing you can think of is going to be all that's left.
> 
> The point is that it's okay to hurt. It's okay to have that dark voice in your head making your life worse. It's okay, and unlike this story you have people who'll help.
> 
> The point is that not everyone makes it through the rough parts of their lives, that people give up because of that voice in their head tearing them down and telling them exactly what they need to hear to break.
> 
> The point is that bad things happen to people and we can't always get the help we need.
> 
> The point is that demons are real, and they're in our heads.
> 
> US Suicide Prevention Hotline: 1-800-273-8255 US Suicide Prevention Text Chat:  
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/chat/
> 
> List of international hotlines:  
> https://ibpf.org/resource/list-international-suicide-hotlines
> 
> Remember, you do not have to be actively suicidal to use the hotline. If you're in distress, having suicidal thoughts or ideation, or need help for someone you know who you think may be suicidal, call. Your problems are real, they matter, and you can get help for them. Also keep in mind that if you are actively suicidal or in danger of hurting yourself, and are in the US, you can call 911 for mental health emergencies as well.
> 
> Thank you for your time, and may your demons stay quiet.


End file.
